By John G. Saxe.
It was an honest fisherman,
I knew him passing well;
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his hook and rod;
So even ran his line of life,
His neighbors thought it odd.
For science and for books he said
He never had a wish;
No school to him was worth a fig
Except a school of fish.
In short, this honest fisherman
All other toils forsook;
And, though no vagrant man was he,
He lived by hook and crook.
He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth,
Nor cared about a name;
For, though much famed for fish was he,
He never fished for fame.
To charm the fish he never spoke,
Although his voice was fine;
He found the most convenient way
Was just to drop a line!
And many a gudgeon of the pond,
If made to speak to-day,
Would own, with grief, the angler had
A mighty taking way!
One day, while fishing on a log,
He mourned his want of luck—
When, suddenly, he felt a bite,
And, jerking—caught a duck!
Alas! that day this fisherman
Had taken too much grog;
And, being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't keep the log!